Dis Belief

February 9, 2010

I am convinced that if I can only just unravel the answer to “why?” then I stand a chance of getting out in front of this.  So far however I’m coming up empty-handed.  It just doesn’t make any sense to me that I have cancer.  Could it simply be some form of karmic payback for insisting that, “I can’t get cancer.  I don’t believe in it.”  And to think, I just had that conversation last summer with a cancer survivor. 

But the fact of the matter is I don’t believe in it.

Even as I palpate this lump.  I once bought smooth, gray river rocks to fill in a short path.  I liked the way they felt in my palm.  A small and somewhat flat one of these, this is what I imagine has been implanted in my breast.  It is cool to the touch – not hot or angry as I imagine cancer would be.  But it is not lacking in substance. 

When I was a young girl I remember seeing psychic surgeon on television.  I remember the skepticism of the American reporter.  I remember believing it was real because the psychic surgeon and the patients believed it was real.  I imagine a psychic surgeon could dip their fingers into my breast and neatly remove this river rock as I sometimes do when I am forced to unearth the path as the dirt below seeks to return the rocks from their exposed place in my garden. 

Is it too unlikely to expect I may be dreaming?




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